


Gold Their Crowns

by thelittlestbird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestbird/pseuds/thelittlestbird
Summary: Prompt: What would it have meant for Cersei to marry Rhaegar: for Cersei, for the prophecy, for the realm? What if Cersei married Rhaegar, but the prophecy remained the same?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wellthen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellthen/gifts).



_Cersei: When will I wed the prince?  
Maggy: Never. You will wed the king._

Two years after royal messengers first came to Casterly Rock to speak of betrothal, they returned.

“They could find nobody to match you.” Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, told his daughter. He spoke without warmth: it was neither kindness nor compliment, simply the truth.

Cersei’s heart pounded. “So…I am to marry the prince after all?” She tried desperately hard not to let her elation show through in her voice. 

“Yes.” Tywin permitted himself a small smile, although probably not for his daughter’s happiness. “You will be queen someday. As I said, he could find nobody to match you, not in all the Seven Kingdoms. Nor even in Essos, when he went there in search of anyone with old Valyrian blood. You will be wed before the year is out.”

_Before I turn seventeen,_ Cersei thought. _That repulsive old woman was wrong! She was just trying to torment me. All that ridiculous chatter about sixteen children and valonqars. I will wed the prince, and someday I will be queen._ “And Jaime will be there, too,” Cersei said aloud, her heart giving a different kind of thump this time.

Tywin’s mouth twitched towards a frown. He was not used to people speaking to him about subjects that he had not planned for them in advance. Especially not about his defiant elder son, joining the Kingsguard against his own wishes. “Yes,” he replied shortly. 

Cersei would be queen, and she would have Jaime by her side when she was. Her dearest wish, her dearest love, and the ability to make the realm into whatever she wanted it to be. Her father’s frowns could never hurt her again, not when someday soon, she would have an even higher title than his.

* * *

The tournament at Harrenhal was greater than any the realm had seen in years; greater even than the one that Tywin Lannister himself had given in honor of Prince Viserys’s birth. But Tywin was not sponsoring this one, so how could the Whents afford it? Nobody knew, but nobody argued: neither the knights who competed for the fat purses, nor the ladies who watched, nor the nobles who whispered and maneuvered and plotted around the edges of the field under cover of the crashing sounds of lance and sword and armor.

And there, in the sight of gods and men, Jaime Lannister took his oath to the Kingsguard, and Cersei Lannister was formally betrothed to Rhaegar Targaryen.

Rhaegar was entirely different from what Cersei had expected. She had seen him at court, of course, and had been told that he was a fierce warrior and a true Targaryen. Yes, he was skilled with a sword, and so silver-gold-haired and violet-eyed that he could not be mistaken for any other blood than royal; but he was not the roaring dragon that Cersei had envisioned. His voice was soft and his manner courtly; his conversation with Father thoughtful and serious when it touched on matters of the realm; his gaze ever so slightly distracted, always glancing over Cersei’s shoulder as if thinking of something or someone very far away.

He was the sort of man, Cersei decided, who would take his rulership of the realm seriously. Which meant that it would be more difficult for her to push him in the direction that she wished – someone with strong ideas and principles of his own always was – but not impossible. She would just have to convince him that whatever she wanted him to do was for the good of the realm.

The crowd cheered as the betrothal ceremony came to a close, and Rhaegar swept down to one knee before Cersei, as smoothly and precisely as if he were a mummer performing it in a play. 

Cersei knew her lines, too, and lifted her voice to make sure that it would carry. Everyone should know what kind of woman was going to be their next queen. “My prince.” She smiled, tasting the sweetness of the phrase as she spoke it. “Fight well in my name.” She unfastened a red-and-gold scarf and tied it to Rhaegar’s arm. 

As another roar of joy went up from the crowd, Cersei took a step back. Jaime was there to meet her, and caught her up in a tight ecstatic embrace. The crowd cheered even harder for that: the fond love between twins who had both gained such great happiness on the same day. 

Cersei desperately wished that she could kiss Jaime in earnest – and from the tightening of his fingers on her back, she knew that he wished the same. _Look at us,_ she thought giddily. _Embracing in front of the whole realm, and they haven’t the slightest idea of what is going on._

“Princess,” Jaime murmured in her ear. “May I fight in your name, too?”

Cersei laughed, low and eager. “You fight in the name of the Crown, knight of the Kingsguard. So when I am queen, you will fight in my name.” She unwound her arms from around him and stepped back, basking in the gaze of thousands of eyes upon her as if it were balmy spring sunshine. 

Those sunbeams warmed her throughout all seven days of the tournament. She watched the seven-sided melee, the archery competition, even the horse race, knowing that everyone was really there to see her. 

And on the final day of the joust, Rhaegar was the victor. He won fairly, for he would not win in any other manner, but it pleased Cersei to see events unfolding so perfectly, as if it were a story. Of course the handsome golden-haired prince would win the tourney held in celebration of his betrothal, and of course his bride would be named the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Rhaegar held aloft the crown of blue winter roses that was his to bestow, and the crowd cheered, waves of sound rising and falling in his wake as he rode around the ring in triumph. He paused for a moment in front of the Starks – Cersei could not understand why he would break up the rhythm of his ride in such a way – but then he lifted his head, glanced over to the royal box, and rode straight towards her. 

Cersei stood up to meet her prince and took the blue roses from his hand.

 

* * *

After that, anything would feel dull by contrast, but Cersei thought that she would have been disappointed by King’s Landing even if the glory of the tournament hadn’t come directly before it.

For one thing, even though Rhaegar as the heir was admitted to the Small Council, Cersei was not. When she was queen, Cersei decided, she would change that. Rhaella was too meek and sickly to push for any dramatic changes, but Cersei would be stronger.

For another, the king’s court itself was nothing like she had pictured it. King Aerys appeared so shrunken and thin that he seemed an aged crone rather than a king in the prime of his life. His silvery hair was dull; his beard scraggly and tangled; his pale skin crossed with red slashes and crusty scabs from where the Iron Throne itself had sliced him. A constant stream of furious muttering spilled from his lips, broken up only by an occasional angry shout. 

Cersei had thought at first that the king might be biddable, so frail in body and mind that he would be easily confused into believing that he had made promises that he never had. Pretend that something has already happened, and more often than not you can persuade someone to make it happen for you.

She even tried. Once.

“Your Grace,” she ventured at dinner one night – a dull and silent meal, nearly in darkness because the king had ordered most of the torches to be put out. The fires were jealous of him, he claimed, and if he let them burn, they would begin to plot against him. “Thank you for the gift of the new horse.” _Start small,_ she told herself. _Then you can move on to something larger, like a castle._

“What?” The king blinked at her.

“It was very kind. But I noticed that it has not yet arrived in the stables?” She let her voice rise to turn it into a question. 

“Horses!” the king spat with sudden fury. “I hate horses! Vile things!” And then, just as swiftly, his anger vanished and joy returned, and he smiled at Cersei, teeth showing through his matted beard. “But I am generous. Yes, I am. The most generous king ever to sit the Iron Throne. That is why it rejects me, you know – because it knows what I am like, and it fears me. Everyone should fear me” He leaned forward towards Cersei, making he queen shrink back as he lunged across the arm of her chair, coming so close that the ends of his beard nearly brushed Cersei’s arm. “Do _you_ fear me?” 

In that moment, Cersei almost did. 

Then Rhaegar leaned in, interjecting smoothly, “Father. Let me tell you of the news from Volantis today. You will find it very interesting.” And just like that, the king was diverted.

No, this king was not biddable. Cersei would have to find another way. And she would not fear him, she told herself. She would not let herself fear him.

But when dinner was over, her heart was still beating faster than it should be, and she felt relieved when Rhaegar’s tall presence came alongside her as she hurried down the corridor towards her chamber. “Cersei,” he said quietly. “I am sorry that you had to experience that.”

“I’m fine,” Cersei replied stiffly. “Thank you, though.”

“My mother would like to sit with you this evening,” Rhaegar continued. “She would like to get to know you better.” His gaze slipped away, shadowed with sorrow. “She understands that it can be difficult for a young lady coming to court for the first time, and would like to help you get accustomed to the ways of the palace.”

Cersei lifted her head. “I’m managing quite well, thank you. I have spent time at court before.” She was a Lannister, daughter of the Hand, not the daughter of some backwater hedge knight! “But I am honored by the queen’s kind invitation.” She would much rather have gone back to Jaime, to tell him everything that had happened, to laugh and cry and rage with him. But who could refuse a summons by the queen?

* * *

“It is so good to have you here, my dear.” The queen’s hand felt dry and chilly, and her lips were dry as well when they brushed Cersei’s cheek in a kiss. 

Cersei flicked a surreptitious glance down as the two women settled into their chairs. Were the rumors true; was the queen with child again? There had been several attempts, but no child had lived since Prince Viserys, and he was now nearly six. But given the queen’s thinness, Cersei thought it very unlikely.

“How are you finding life at court?” the queen asked. 

Cersei nearly rolled her eyes at the inanity of the question. This was a conversation that Rhaegar thought would help her? “All is well, Your Grace,” she recited. “Thank you.”

“I hope that you will find a way to live well here,” Rhaella continued, her voice so soft that Cersei nearly had to strain to hear it. “You are such a sweet girl.” Cersei choked. Sweet? That was the last thing she wished to be. “So full of life. I hope that you can keep that.”

“I will, Your Grace. Thank you.” Cersei wondered how soon she could get out of here and back to Jaime.

Rhaella shook her head. “My dear, please, listen.” There was a faint tremor in the queen’s voice. “I do not wish to see you hurt. For my son’s sake, for the realm’s sake, and for your own.” She leaned forward to take Cersei’s hand again, so surprisingly swift that Cersei did not have time to pull away. “My husband-brother is...” Rhaella stopped as a shiver ran through her, then started again. “He is the king. The strength of all kings is frightening. And my Aerys’s…illness is affecting him. More and more with each day.” Each word came slowly, broken up with pauses as if the queen had to struggle against some immense force to speak each one. “He often…notices young ladies of the court.” Rhaella’s hand tightened around Cersei’s. “So, please, do not draw his attention. Try not to speak around him if you can help it. Do not be alone with him. Just…do not be seen. That is how to keep yourself safe.” Rhaella shook her head. “It must feel a cold welcome to court, to get advice like this. But that is the way of it. To be a woman at this court, and to survive, you must know these things.”

Cersei wanted to rail against what the queen was saying. First of all, that was not the way of things! How could you get anything you wanted, especially as a woman, if you did not let yourself be seen? Power never came from being invisible. And second, Cersei could keep herself safe! She had always done that. And if she needed help, she had Jaime and Father nearby, not to mention Rhaegar. Surely they wouldn’t let her come to any harm.

It suddenly struck Cersei that here she sat with the one person whom she might be able to speak to about Jaime. Her husband-brother, the queen had just called Aerys. She would understand the depth of that love that could only happen with someone of your own blood. Except that Rhaella’s love had soured and turned to pain, if it had ever been there for her brother to begin with.

When Cersei came out of her thoughts, the queen was still looking at her. “I’m sorry, my dear,” Rhaella said, still sad and quiet. “I did not mean to frighten you.” 

“I wasn’t frightened!” Cersei snapped. Why was she so on edge, then? It must be because she was still angry at the way the queen was advising her; angry at the way Rhaegar had foisted her off on his mother. Not frightened.

“Of course not,” Rhaella said gently – and then added, more gently still, “Not by me.”

* * *

The next day at court was worse.

Cersei stood in the gallery watching the king dismiss petition after petition. Trembling smallfolk, upstanding lords, well-fed merchants – no matter what they asked, he sent them all away with the same sharp words. “You do not deserve to speak to me. I am the king, and I do not choose to hear you.”

How could he be allowed to get away with it? Cersei looked around at the others near the king to see if anyone would try to counsel him differently. But they did not. Rhaegar was silent, his eyes full of sorrow. Rhaella shrank farther and farther back in her seat, as if she were trying to disappear. Even Father simply sat and watched, his face not giving away any more emotion than usual.

Next up was Lord Owen Merryweather, an elderly man whose usual broad smile was slightly dimmed with apprehension as he stepped forward. “Your Grace, I come before you today to beg you to change your decree on – “

He never let him finish. “Change?” Aerys thundered. “Do you stand there to tell me that you want to go counter to my decrees? To disobey me? I am the king! I am the king! I am fire! I will burn you all before I let you defy me! Do you hear?” The king lurched to his feet, one gnarled hand swinging wildly around to point at the Kingsguard. “You!” he shouted, picking Ser Oswell Whent out of the line. “This lord defies me! I will not have it! Give him the death he deserves!”

Rhaegar paled. “Father,” he gasped.

Jaime looked just as horrified, Cersei saw, but also looked relieved that the king had not pointed at him. He would be spared having to make that choice.

“Your Grace,” Ser Oswell tried to protest. 

But the king was already beckoning to the other side of court, calling forth someone else: Wisdom Rossart, the alchemist. The man who made fire for the king.

Lord Owen saw it too, and his eyes grew round with terror. “Your Grace, please. No! Forgive me! I – I - “ Ser Oswell caught him as he tried to back away.

“You will die!” the king shouted, his voice cracking as it rose. His arm scraped across the edge of the Iron Throne as he swung around, opening up another gash. Aerys hardly seemed to notice. “You will die, and you will burn!”

Cersei gripped the railing of the balcony. She did not want to watch, but she did not want to flee, either.

Mercifully, Ser Oswell ended it swiftly. His sword swung long before the alchemist could prepare the fire. Only after Lord Owen was dead did he burn.

“I hold your lives in my hand!” Aerys shouted, as the flames dwindled away. “All of you! You – “ He pointed at Ser Barristan, who stood frozen and shocked with the rest of the Kingsguard. “And you – “ The hand swung around to Maester Pycelle. “Or even you!” The king was pointing directly at Cersei.

* * *

“Did you hear him?” Cersei stormed about her chamber, her rage flying out in all directions. If she was angry enough, perhaps it would cover her fear. She could not be afraid – not even here, alone with Jaime. “He pointed at me and said that he could kill me!”

“I did,” Jaime soothed her. “But what can we do?” He caught her in his arms, holding her close. 

She could feel him trembling; could smell the hideous smoke still on him. “What can we do?” She spat the words back at him and broke free. “We can _stop him,_ is what we can do. You are in the Kingsguard, and one day I will be the queen! We _can_ stop him, and we will!”

Jaime shook his head. “He is the king. That means that we can’t stop him. I was there.” He pulled Cersei close to him once more, and repeated, “I was _right there._ Gods, the fire…”

Cersei wanted to comfort him; to bring back his beautiful smile. But there was no time for that. She needed to press forward. “Jaime,” she said more softly, “we _must._ ” She let her voice slip a little and sent a slight tremor go into it, hating herself for the show of fear – and hating even more that fear was what she really felt. “You saw what happened to Lord Owen. You saw that the king threatened me. What if he did that to _me_? Jaime, what if he _burned_ me?”

She had him; she knew it. His arms clutched her with frantic strength, and she let herself sag into his embrace She didn’t let herself admit that she wanted the comfort, but she claimed it all the same. “I won’t let him hurt you,” Jaime said quietly. “I won’t. Tell me how to keep you safe.”

“I will.” Cersei put her head down on her brother’s shoulder and let out a soft breath of relief. “Let me find a way.”

* * *

It took three days of watching before she chose the person who would help her. 

Three days that Aerys was confined to his room, trembling with fear and sickness. Three days that Rhaella seemed to walk a little taller, knowing that Aerys would not come near her. Three days that Rhaegar sat in his father’s stead, and courtiers rushed forward to get their causes heard by him before Aerys returned.

“Why do you not sit on the Iron Throne when you hold your father’s court?” Cersei urged him. 

But Rhaegar shook his head. “I have no right to it. Not yet.”

And meanwhile, Cersei watched, and listened, and steered the conversation of the other young ladies at court in the direction that she chose. Just like playing spin-the-sword: set it spinning, and wait till it points the right way.

She pointed the gossip towards maesters, and the gossip pointed her towards Maester Nikolas, a young man recently come from the Citadel to serve the Bar Emmon family. He had hoped to be a knight, the young ladies of the court said, and still longed for something more than what fortune and his family had planned for him. 

Cersei could be more, if that was what he wanted.

She approached him when he was in the gardens, sweeping up grandly behind him to say, “Good day. Maester Nikolas, is it not?” She saw his blue eyes widen with awe when he recognized her: daughter of the Hand, betrothed of the heir to the Iron Throne. She stood in a sunbeam and smiled at him, letting him admire her for as long as he wished. “I’ve noticed you about court, and have been meaning to speak to you for some time.” 

Nikolas goggled for a few seconds before he managed to say, “H-have you really, my lady?” 

“Oh, yes,” Cersei confirmed smoothly. “You will be a very useful person to know, as soon as the other maesters recognize your talent. But everyone else at court says that you are the most knowledgeable – more so than Pycelle, even.” That was a bit much, but Nikolas drank it all in with just as much gullibility as Cersei had hoped he would. “And that you’re brave, as well!”

Nikolas slumped a little. “Oh, no, my lady,” he sighed. “Not so. I work with books and herbs, not with a sword. Not like your husband-to-be.”

Cersei stepped a little closer, and laid a hand on his arm to console him, her touch calculatedly casual. “Oh, no!” she protested in echoing response. “Your work is brave, too! You work with so many dangerous things, don’t you? Poisons that can kill if you breathe in a single grain, or touch a single drop.”

She could feel him trembling with excitement under the touch of her hand, and she knew that she had him. “Do you think so, my lady?” Nikolas asked. Then he answered his own question, “I – I suppose I am.” He dared to lean in closer, and Cersei let him. She brought out the full force of her smile and watched his cheeks flush red as he began to spill out words before her. “Did you know, my lady, the other day I saw a full bottle of the Tears of Lys? It’s so deadly a poison, I can’t imagine that they allow it in the palace! And the one they call the strangler – did you know – “

All the while he spoke, Cersei stared into his eyes as if he were the most fascinating person that she had ever heard. All the while, she gently steered him forward down the garden path, back towards the cool inner shade of the Red Keep. All the while, she listened for the words that she hoped to hear him speak, until finally, she heard them. “ – And did you know, my lady,” Nikolas babbled, “that ointment of greenroot is deadly if put upon a sword, but not if you touch it with your hand? It is only harmful on a blade that breaks the skin.”

“You are absolutely _fascinating_ ,” Cersei murmured. “Tell me…you have your own laboratory, don’t you?” She leaned in, letting her arm brush against his as she added, “A _private_ one?” 

Nikolas gulped, and nodded. “Not my own, but they’ve given me one to use. That’s where I saw all of those things I was telling you about.”

Cersei smiled in perfect satisfaction. “Let’s go.”

Some time later, when both were spent, Cersei dropped a light kiss on Nikolas’s forehead. “Tell nobody about this,” she murmured. “You know that my betrothed would be furious if he knew that I loved anyone but him.” She was proud of herself for saying that with an entirely straight face. 

Nikolas nodded, beaming exhaustedly up at her. “I promise.”

“Sleep, darling,” she said, brushing his disheveled hair back from his pale forehead. “You must be worn out after all of that.” It had been rather strenuous – surprisingly so, considering how thin and weedy Nikolas was. Not surprising at all was the fact that it was his first time, even though he had tried his best to pretend that it was not. 

He nodded again in response to her instructions, and after a moment or two, his eyes slipped shut. 

Cersei waited until his breathing grew slow and deep, then stood up and slipped her gown back on. Settling her hair into place, she surveyed the array of bottles and jars that rested in racks along the wall. Ah, there it was: ointment of greenroot. She tucked the little bottle into her reticule and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

* * *  
The next part was Jaime’s to do. She could not risk bringing in another person, not even the lowliest servant, and she certainly could not do it herself.

She waited outside the throne room, pressed up against the wall while she listened.

“The king has commanded it,” she heard Jaime declare. “I and I alone must make the throne room safe. I will let you back in once that is done.”

“But, ser!” another voice protested – the servant whom Jaime was shooing out, she assumed. “I can’t – “

“You _will_.” A thrill ran through Cersei at hearing the authoritative ring in Jaime’s voice. “Now get out. I must do the king’s bidding.” For a few long minutes, there was silence. Then, Cersei heard running footsteps, and heard Jaime’s voice come surging back full of righteous anger. “Do you see this?” he shouted. “A dagger, hidden in the throne room! No wonder His Grace was worried! It is fortunate that I was there to make things safe.”

Cersei was particularly proud of adding that detail to the little mummer’s play that she had written for Jaime to perform.

The hapless servant babbled and pleaded until Jaime took pity and gave a brief dismissal. A moment later, Jaime came around the corner to where Cersei had hidden herself, and they rushed into each other’s arms.

It was all they could do to keep apart long enough to walk down the hall separately.

* * *  
Two days later, the king returned to the Iron Throne. 

He looked even thinner and more haggard than he had before this most recent bout of illness, and once reached out to lean on Ser Arthur Dayne’s arm as they walked side by side up to the dais. Unlike the king’s previous appearance, and unlike the times when Rhaegar held court, the gallery was nearly empty. A few nobles looked on with morbid fascination at Aerys’s deterioration; a few whispered and schemed in anticipation of the king’s next absence. But most stayed away out of fear: fear that the king would burn someone else, and fear that they might be next.

Cersei was not in the gallery either; she stood among the courtiers on the ground level, near to the Iron Throne. She hated to be near Aerys, but she knew that she had to be. As the first petitioners trembled their way up towards the king, Cersei looked up to catch Jaime’s gaze where he stood on the dais, and thought that he might be smiling at her a little with his eyes. She smiled back, taking heart from her brother’s nearness.

She hardly heard what anyone asked the king. The words washed over her in a blur of sound, nearly drowned out by the pounding of her heart as she waited. Waited. Waited.

And then – 

“Aaaaah!” The king let out a shriek as one of the sharp edges of the Iron Throne gashed across his arm. That had happened a hundred times before, though. Nothing unusual. He scarcely seemed to notice the blood dripping down his arm to soak his robe.

Except that a moment later, he paused in the middle of a sentence, his mouth twitching oddly. And then his face twitched. And then his whole body began to spasm, spilling him to the floor in a terrible seizure.

Jaime was first to his side, heedless of the blood spattering his fine white cloak. “Get help!” he shouted, his voice ringing with that beautiful note of authority that Cersei loved.

“I will!” Cersei called back, just as they had practiced. “Your Grace, never fear – I will bring you aid.”

She raced out of the room.

And waited. Counted ten. Twenty.

Back in the throne room, the poison was working its way through Aerys’s veins. _He must be in pain_ , came into her head, and then she pushed it away. _Rhaegar is seeing his father die,_ came next, and was dismissed just as quickly. And then, _I have killed a king._

That one, she could not make herself stop thinking. But she could make herself think only of the rush of power that the thought gave to her; only of the exhilaration. _I am the most powerful person in the realm, and nobody knows it but me. And Jaime. I am more powerful than the king, for I have the power over the king’s life._

Greenroot took less than a minute, Maester Nikolas had said. After a count of thirty, Cersei finally ran down the hall to fetch Pycelle.

* * *  
The Great Sept was filled with nobles come for the coronation.

Ever since Aerys’s death, it felt as if the air in the palace were somehow clearer. People spoke aloud rather than in whispers; they did not glance over their shoulder to see who was listening – well, no more than they had done before King Aerys had gone mad. Someone was always listening in the Red Keep. The difference now was that nobody would burn them alive for what they said.

Cersei watched Rhaegar move about the room, visiting the representatives from each Great House in turn. Tyrells, Tullys, Martells. A long time spent with the Starks – old Lord Rickard, his three sons, and his daughter Lyanna.

Rhaella was watching Rhaegar too, from her spot next to Cersei, and she had a small smile on her face. Her smile was lovely, Cersei realized. Had she never seen the queen – Queen _Mother_ , she corrected herself with an inward feeling of satisfaction – smile before? No, not like this. It had never reached her eyes before. But even now Rhaella’s smile only lasted a moment, as if she were still afraid to let it stay for any longer than that.

On Rhaella’s other side, Viserys sat clinging to her hand, frowning in confusion at the mixture of joy and sorrow that surrounded him. “Why is everyone laughing?” he demanded. “Shouldn’t they be sad because Father died?”

“They are happy because your brother will be a good king, sweetling,” Rhaella murmured back. “He will care for the realm and make it flourish.” Again the smile came out, wistful but sincere. “He is a true dragon.”

Viserys was not satisfied. He almost never was. “Wasn’t Father a true dragon?”

“Hush,” Rhaella soothed him. “The coronation is about to begin.”

As septons, lords, and Kingsguard processed through the crowd, Cersei sat tall with the dignity suitable to a future queen, knowing that their eyes would be on her. Her eyes glowed as she caught sight of Jaime, and tried to catch his gaze with that secret look that had always been theirs alone, the one that they could give each other in the midst of the largest crowd and feel that they were the only people in the world.

Jaime met her eyes for just a moment, then turned away to look resolutely at Rhaegar’s back.

_He has never done that before_ , Cersei thought. _Strange. Well, perhaps he does not want to take his eyes off Rhaegar for too long. He has never guarded a king at his coronation, either._

The High Septon raised the crown high and pronounced, “Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm.”

That was the title he would bear when Cersei married him in three months’ time. _You will marry the king,_ Cersei heard the prophecy in her memory. She smiled, knowing that she would.

**Author's Note:**

> \- I absolutely adored your idea of the prophecy remaining the same if Cersei married Rhaegar! But Part 1 of my story expanded so much that I knew I would never be able to get to the rest of the prophecy in time. I hope that someday I’ll be able to write the second half, because I have many ideas about how that will turn out.
> 
> \- I played with the timeline a little to ensure that Cersei would be at least 16 when she married Rhaegar; any younger and I just wasn’t comfortable writing it.
> 
> \- Canon changes regarding the tourney at Harrenhal: In canon, the tourney at Harrenhal took place a year earlier than it did in this story; and Tywin resigned as Hand around the same time. I kept Tywin as Hand, since his position was stronger. Jaime was still invested into the Kingsguard at the tourney, but I kept Aerys away: in canon, Aerys was there because Rhaegar was suspected of using the tourney to plot against him. Since Tywin was still the Hand and Rhaegar was betrothed to Cersei, Rhaegar wasn’t going to risk a plot like that in case Tywin opposed it.
> 
> \- It was very strange to realize that if Aerys died earlier, Rickard and Brandon Stark would never have been killed. Poor Lord Owen Merryweather got the role of Person Whose Death Shocks People Into Action instead. In canon, Lord Owen was known for his generosity and good nature, and was Aerys’s Hand after Tywin. (Also, if Aerys died earlier, Daenerys would never have been born either, something that was even stranger for me to realize!)
> 
> \- As always, I am deeply indebted to the authors of A Wiki of Ice and Fire for their exhaustive information and careful attention to detail.


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